by Miriam Bibby
"And leave off your finery," said Clink to the Egyptian Mort. "No need to make a show yet."
"Don't see why I can't take the ass," argued the Frater.
"Because I say so. And a long walk will make you hungry. You always beg better when your belly's rumbling. And mind ye ... don't take anything they can put on you afterwards, see?"
The Frater carried on muttering but there was a part of him looking forward to being in a town again. For the past few days the only dwellings they had seen had been lowly and lonely alehouses. No scope there for him.
"And see if I don't come back with something better than two mangy rabbits," boasted the Frater.
"One thing before you go," said Clink, looking innocently upwards.
"What's that?" said the Frater.
"Better clean yerself up," said Clink, with a nod to the Frog, and before the Frater could do anything, the two of them had grabbed his arms with the deftness of long practise, and were dragging him back on his heels towards the stream. There was a shout of protest, a loud splash, and the sound of steady cursing. The two men stood on the bank laughing with daggers drawn and pointing towards him as the Frater pulled his dirty robe over his head and scrubbed it viciously.
"Perhaps yer feet won't stink as much now!" said the Frog. Eventually they allowed him to wallow out shivering onto the bank.
"Catch me death I will. If I'm dead of the ague who'll beg for ye then? Who'll make yer gybes for ye then?" moaned Frater John, squeezing water out of his robe. The Frater was the only one of the party who could write, and the production of gybes, or fake documents, was one of his most valuable skills.
"We'll put the habit on the ass," grinned Clink. "Who'll notice the difference?"
"I'm drowned!" said the Frater.
"The walk will dry you out," said Clink. "Now. On yer way, or feel my foot on your backside."
The Frater, after tying a pair of worn out leather buskins on his feet, set off, with the two women, both of whom could walk much faster than him and had to slow their pace to match his. As they headed off under the trees, intending to walk parallel to the highway, rather than on it, the Sad Mort turned to Clink.
"If the Jingler comes ..." she began.
"Aye, aye, I'll make sure he leaves you news," said Clink offhandedly. "And if the others arrive with the kinchins, they'll rest here."
The Sad Woman set off again, saying nothing more. The kinchins Clink spoke of were her two children and the Jingler was their father. Well, probably their father.
Eventually, bored with the slow pace, the women walked on ahead leaving the Frater grumbling up behind them. As they approached the town, the women noted any signs of opportunity: a farmhouse set not too far back from the road, with barns and steadings standing away from it; lofts that might contain apples or other fruit stored from the autumn; any open windows or badly fastened doors on cottages and outhouses; fowl yards where there might be eggs or fat chickens; any linen or small goods left carelessly visible by a housemaid or servant. They noted all but took nothing. It was not worth drawing attention to themselves for such small takings. And there was always the return journey.
As they reached the outskirts of Guildern the women slowed down again and Frater John came straggling up, his pace invigorated by the proximity to a town, to alehouses, food and opportunities. And so they entered the town in a knot, with the Sad Mort and the Egyptian Mort walking just behind the Frater.
Meg, seated at the window of her room with Cornelius snoozing beside her, saw the three of them and uttered an amused exclamation. Cornelius half woke, growled and snuffled.
"Well done, Brother Nose-all," said Meg. "You always do know trouble when you scent it."
Matthew came over to the casement and glanced down the street. They both smiled.
"Life," said Meg, rolling a grumbling Cornelius over onto his back and rubbing his chest, "is about to become interesting." Cornelius yawned and looked happy.
"I believe I'd like to make their acquaintance," said Matthew.
"They certainly have an interesting look about them," agreed Meg. "They might be able to teach you a thing or two ... or vice versa, of course."
Matthew raised an eyebrow.
"But Brother Nose-all will stay here," said Meg. "I don't think he's suited to life on the road as a performer. And after hearing the uproar in the street the other day ... quite apart from the fact that he would make a tasty morsel for some of those dogs, you'll be less notable alone."
Matthew nodded and made to leave.
"Take care," said Meg, more seriously, still looking through the casement whilst she rubbed Cornelius's ears gently. "It's just ... a feeling ... but, be careful."
"I trust your feelings," said Matthew. "I will take care."
"Follow them first," said Meg. "See where they go."
"I will." Matthew picked up the staff that always accompanied him and made a few passes. The staff whistled as it sliced through the air. Meg, with swiftness born of experience, tucked Cornelius under one arm and moved the chair just before the staff landed.
"Very good," said Matthew. "Very quick ... that time."
"Go!" said Meg. "Leave us some furniture. I've no wish to sit on the floor."
Matthew left.
He was able to track the progress of the Frater and the women fairly easily. They were pursuing a leisurely and unobtrusive tour of all the inn yards in the main thoroughfare and some of the alehouses in the side streets of Guildern. The Frater had adopted a very convincing air of piety and confidence. The women were both soberly wrapped up and their heads covered. Occasionally they would enter an inn yard, converse with an ostler or servant, and shaking or nodding their heads, move away. Matthew, who knew the streets well now, was curious. There was no attempt to gain money, as far as he could see; they took nothing, even though he could see that there were opportunities to do so. Their behaviour was exemplary ... and yet ... and yet ...
They spent longer at the Angel, which was a posting inn, than they did at the others. The Frater was deep in conversation with the master ostler there, whom Matthew knew. Finally, looking at one another and shaking their heads, the three moved away. The ostler said something and gestured towards the Goat in Chains. Matthew, watching from a careful distance, saw them walking towards it. He hesitated for a moment, considering whether to have a word with the ostler. Then he decided to follow them back to the Goat in Chains and see if he could find out what questions they were asking. He could always go back to the Angel later.
Matthew knew the Goat in Chains very well. He knew every angle of the yard and the location of the cellar. He was also conscious of movements within the inn; the habits of the porter, who regularly stood up and went out into the street; at what time Bess would be baking; and who brought the victuals to the inn. In one side wall of the yard there was a narrow gate, and by holding this gate just ajar it was possible to overhear some of what was happening on the yard.
The Frater had approached the head ostler without the least sign of humility. Matthew could hear his confident voice quite clearly.
"Spare a moment to talk to an old soldier, collecting for his comrades, can 'ee?" he was saying. The ostler shrugged wearily, but stopped to listen. There was something about the Frater, his confident air, his shabby clothing contrasting with his confident air, his silent women companions, that drew interest, Matthew could see that. Although they were evident rogues, to Matthew's eyes - or at least the Frater was - there was something that elicited humour, curiosity and even a little sympathy. Matthew, listening and peering through a chink in the side door, was very conscious of this.
"Mayhap ye can help us?" said the Frater, hastily adding, "Nay, nay, I'm not asking for your money, although if ye were able to give a little something, it would be in a very good cause. But nay, it's information that I'm seeking, not money ..." A slight wistfulness in Frater John's voice betrayed his real feelings regarding money, Matthew thought. He half smiled and carried on listening.
"Oh yes?" said the ostler, only half believing.
"Indeed," said the Frater. "And after being invalided out of her majesty's service, this good woman's husband found it hard to find work at first although he searched far and wide ... and his is not the saddest tale I have to tell. If ye heard of some of the captives being flogged in the galleys of the Turk, or captive in his dungeons ..." The Frater's voice had become quite emotional. Matthew, listening and frowning now, thought he heard a genuine note in there.
"... of the fatherless families at home, the hearths without a fire ..." The Frater carried on for a while and then pulled himself up.
"... but ... I must not dwell on them. I must consider this one case, wherein I hope I can do some good. As I was saying ..." and the Frater paused to wipe a tear from his eye, "... it is the husband of this good woman that is our concern. His injuries meant the loss of a good place. Those injuries healed, in time, but he still carried with him a great heaviness of heart ... all she knows is that he was gone one morning, leaving word for her with his brother that he was gone in search of employment so that she and the babes might keep a hold on life in this vale of tears ..."
The ostler still looked unconvinced.
"And, leaving the babes in the care of her mother and sister, his wife here set out to find him and bring him home. Her husband having great skill with horses, she was certain that he would find a place ..."
Matthew, shifting his position, caught the look on the ostler's face. The Frater had finally captured his full interest.
"... and we have some news that he might have passed this way and found employment."
"Well now," said the ostler. "There was a man, might be the one yer looking for, worked here a day or two before ..."
"What did he look like?" asked the Sad Mort eagerly. "How did he look?"
The Frater frowned at her and held up a hand. "Forgive her rudeness," he said, in an apologetic and slightly unctuous tone. "She's desperate for news of her loving husband. Now ..."
"Tall man," said the ostler, obviously in a hurry to get back to work. "Yellow, straight hair, greyish eyes ..." He looked at them enquiringly.
There was the slightest of pauses during which Matthew sensed, rather than saw, a look pass between the Frater and the women.
"Naw," said the Frater firmly. "That's not our man at all. The one we're seeking is middling tall, broad and has hair and a beard of red brown. Thanks for yer time." he added politely. "Want to help the poor soldiers?" The ostler found him a silver penny from somewhere and disappeared back into the stable before they could press him for any more.
"Thank ye," said the Frater. "Bless ye." The Sad Mort gave the ostler a most melting and sorrowful smile, most of which he missed. The Egyptian Mort gazed after him fondly.
Matthew tried to gauge what truth, if any, lay behind the story he had just heard. Then, moving swiftly, he pulled a long, knitted hat, such as worn by sailors, out of his jerkin and put it on, pulling it low down onto his brow. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it might help prevent them from identifying him again in a hurry if needed. It was the best he could do on the spur of the moment. The lane at the side of the inn, where he was standing, was quite gloomy. Judging his moment and hoping they had turned his way when they left the inn yard, he walked swiftly round the corner. Luckily, they had turned his way. Matthew, with some force, walked straight into the Frater, knocking some of the wind out of the old man's body with his staff as he did so.
"Crave your pardon," muttered Matthew in a gruff voice, then made to move to the right just as the Frater moved to the left at the same time. He moved to the left, and the Frater moved with him. Matthew stopped.
"No damage, I trust?" said Matthew, in the same guttural voice, head down as if in a hurry to leave.
"Well, now, I don't know about that," said the Frater slowly, rubbing his stomach and glaring at Matthew. "Not a young man like you. Get a blow in the stomach like that at my age ..."
"Beg pardon," said Matthew again. He was certain that the opportunistic Frater would not let it finish there. He was right. The Frater held up a hand as Matthew attempted to walk on.
"In a hurry, ain’t yer? Well, slow down, just slow down. I'm not sure whether I'm damaged or not, am I?"
Matthew waited, saying nothing, looking down. The Frater spent some time looking into Matthew's face. Then finally, he said, "I know what you are. Moor, ain’t yer? Part Moor, anyways."
Matthew made a slight movement of his body that might have been an inclination or a nod of the head, or might not.
"Thought so," said the Frater, in a satisfied tone. "Had the ... pleasure ... of the acquaintance of you people before." There was dangerous meaning in his tone. He looked at the staff Matthew was carrying. "Great stick fighters, you Moorish coves, ain’t yer?" There was grudging admiration in his voice as well as a threat now.
Matthew backed up, and with a hand holding each end of the staff, jumped over it and then made a few flourishes in the air. The women looked somewhat impressed. The Frater gave him a bland look.
"Not bad," he said. He still didn't move to allow Matthew to walk past. There was a pause.
"I hope I did no lasting damage," said Matthew, keeping his voice guttural. "Drink? By way of amends."
"Now yer talking!" said the Frater. Matthew led them round back into the alley that ran alongside the inn.
"And do y'know where can a starving man get a bite to eat?" said the Frater, puffing slightly as he tried to keep up.
Matthew looked surprised. "This inn," he said, gesturing at the wall as they walked.
"Naw," said the Frater in an exasperated tone. He stopped and looked at Matthew as though he were half witted. "I didn't say pay for a meal, did I?"
Matthew looked understanding. "Ah." He took a few steps back towards the way they had come and looked up and down the alleyway. No one was about. He gestured to the Frater. Just above his head was a small open window.
"Here. Leg up." The Frater looked surprised, but walked up to Matthew and cupped his hands. Matthew stepped lightly into them and stood up, gripping the sill of the window.
"Larder," he said, a little indistinctly, as he stuck his head and shoulders in through the window. The Frater waited. Matthew put the staff in through the opening as well.
"Look out for us," said the Frater to the two women. They stole away quickly to guard both ends of the alleyway.
"Here," said Matthew. Another brusque word from the Frater and the Egyptian Mort came back at a light run to take what Matthew was holding. With a grin she held it under Frater John's nose, which twitched in appreciation.
"Pigeon pie, if I'm not mistaken? With pear and spices," said the Frater, with a chuckle. "Well, it being Lent, we'll save them from sin." The Egyptian Mort laughed.
"Trust you and your belly, Jack! Yer could name a pie if you smelled it in the next parish!"
"Stow it," warned the Frater. "Ye cackle like a jay in a cherry tree."
"Wait ... more ... " said Matthew, hooking his stick in through the window again.
"Hurry up," grunted the Frater, "Can't hold on much longer ... people might come."
"Done," said Matthew, handing another dish down to the waiting Egyptian Mort. She took a great breath of the scent.
"Lemon ... brandy ... eggs ... fruit ... and such pastry ..."
"D'you want him to ask for the receipt?" snapped the Frater, meaning the recipe.
Matthew stepped down quickly from the Frater's hands.
"Yer one of us, boy," said the Frater, with admiration. "Well, we'd best make ourselves scarce. About this drink ..."
"This way," said Matthew, leading them swiftly down the alley and towards a narrow maze of muddy ways in between smaller dwellings. The Frater, after ordering the women to wrap up the pies securely in their shawls, followed at a trot, hi
s tiredness and aching feet forgotten in anticipation of pie and booze.
When Matthew, the Frater and the women entered Widow Patterson's alehouse, sat down, opened up their bundles and started to eat the pie and tart with great relish the Widow noticed them immediately but did not make any comment. She simply filled two jugs and two cups with beer and carried them over. Matthew, chewing, pulled out some silver pennies and paid her without a word. Just customers. Nothing unusual about people bringing their own food; though she did notice that it looked and smelled unusually good. She shrugged and hoped it was sufficiently salty to increase their thirst.
The Frater munched greedily but the two women made sure that they had their share too. Matthew contrived to look as though he was eating and drinking heartily whilst letting the others have the lion's share. The Frater gulped more beer, belched, and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Oh, that was tasty, was that. That was delicate. You curbed that like a ... like a ..." Words failing him, he turned to Matthew and with studied, mincing politeness, said, "Allow me to make our introductions." He nodded at the Sad Mort, who inclined her head and smiled her sad smile.
"Mary, otherwise Moll, otherwise the Sad Mort."
"Jack!" protested the Sad Mort indignantly.
The Frater ignored her. Nodding at the Egyptian Mort, he said, "And Ruby, otherwise the Egyptian Mort. Does a fine show of dancing with a tambour and all that."
The Egyptian Mort got to her feet and danced a few wild steps, raising an imaginary drum above her head. It was enthusiastic and eye-catching, but Matthew doubted it owed anything to Egyptian influence of any kind whatsoever.
"D'you mind!" hollered the Widow. The Egyptian Mort sat down and lowered her eyes immediately. Then she looked up at Matthew with a melting glance from under her long lashes.
"Charmed, I'm sure," she murmured. "Read your palm, my handsome? You've a lucky face, you have. And I see you travelling far ..."
